


Shimmering

by kres



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-22
Updated: 2004-12-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kres/pseuds/kres
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I will tell you something you don't know about me.</p><p>[originally posted at kres.livejournal.com]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_deserves a quiet night_

 

Halfway through the barbecue, Carter says:

“Pete took me to the movies tonight.”

She’s on her third beer, so already past the giggling phase, and heading fast into the gloomy.

Across the garden table, Daniel looks up from where he’s been composing patterns of baked beans on his plate. His eyes are pale behind the glint of light against the lenses, and he is slowly crushing a piece of bread between his fingers. He doesn’t say anything.

Jacks turns the steak over on the grill, and waits for the rest of the story, because it’s Carter, so she’s bound to be heading somewhere. It’s already dark and getting chillier by the minute, the dew on the grass shimmering in the light from Jack’s porch.

Not the best time of the year for it, but the day had been long and Jack decided his team needed some post-mission thawing – well, not that it’s his team, not any more, but they needed thawing none the less, and he wanted to go along. They haven’t been getting together that much lately, and the General and his _former_ team sharing an evening once in a while was still within the boundaries of acceptable.

A late-night barbecue wasn’t among Teal’c’s best ways to spend his down-time, though, because he excused himself politely, explaining he was _in need of rest, O’Neill_. Jack was disappointed, but he didn’t let it show.

Carter’s cell chirped when they were headed for their cars, and the smile she gave the phone – that sort of shy smile Carter almost never got – had ‘Pete’ written all over it in big block letters. She waved them an absent-minded goodbye, the cell firmly plastered to her ear, her mind already elsewhere. 

Which left just Daniel and Jack, standing awkwardly opposite each other in the parking lot, hands in their pockets.

“So,” Daniel said.

“So?” Jack raised his eyebrows. 

Daniel looked decidedly uncomfortable, probably wondering if by the ‘team evening’ Jack had meant they couldn’t just go and eat the damn steaks between the two of them. 

Jack let him squirm for a moment, skimming briefly over pros and cons. Then he smiled, bouncing a little on his toes.

“Bring beer,” he said.

“Okay,” Daniel agreed immediately, and they both turned on their heel and headed for their respective cars.

The doorbell rang three hours after they had arranged the grill on the porch and started the fire. It was dark and their round of steak was already gone, so they kept Carter mostly on bread and beer, while Jack prepared a steak for her. All in all, they didn’t do much thawing, because of the chill, so Jack brought a blanket for Carter, and Daniel wrapped it around her shoulders and seated her on the low bench along the wall. She hadn’t spoken much, just drank and nibbled on the food.

“Sam?” Daniel asks, and Jack realizes there’s been silence for a while now. Daniel has stopped playing with the beans, and Carter is staring idly into the coals in the grill. The bottle is dangling uselessly from her fingers, and Jack notices she’s not wearing the ring.

He’s still in the process of deciding if this is a good thing or a bad thing – because he’s not sure if she’s ever worn it – when Daniel stands up, walks around the table and kneels on the floor by the bench. He doesn’t say a word, just puts one hand on Carter’s knee over the blanket, and the other on the back of her neck, pulling just a little, and all Jack can think is, _Oh crap_.

The kiss is gentle – chaste, even – and Jack wonders if this is their first time, but he isn’t sure if it would make him feel any better. Daniel works slowly, coaxing Carter’s mouth open with his tongue and then sucking on her bottom lip. His fingers are tracing little circles on her skin, sliding into her hair in a soothing, comforting caress. 

And it would be almost lazy, almost sweet, but Carter’s eyes are shut tight, and her knuckles are white where her hand is gripping the blanket.

Jack realizes he should probably leave right this moment, he should just go somewhere and wait it all out, but it’s _his house, damn it_ , and it’s not like he has a lot of places to go at 10 pm on a Sunday. Besides, the steak will char if he leaves it like this, so he opens his mouth to say something – protest, probably, or maybe make a joke – but then Carter makes a little sound, an odd, desperate sound he’s never heard from her before, and Daniel is pulling back, both hands cupping her face.

“Sam,” Daniel says, looking at her intently, and she grips his hand, her eyes darting to Jack for the briefest second.

They stay like this for a little while, bent towards each other, Daniel’s thumb moving back and forth across Carter’s cheek, and Jack is sure there is a conversation going on right now, just not in so many words, and he thinks that maybe he looks stupid, standing there by the grill, tongs in hand, wondering _when the hell did this happen_ and how come he didn’t notice before. But then Daniel is nodding, even though Carter didn’t say a single word.

“Okay.” Daniel takes Carter’s hand in his, brings it to his mouth and kisses her fingers—

—and Jack’s throat suddenly goes dry – funny thing, that, he used to think it was just a figure of speech – and he can’t swallow, because Daniel is getting up, and turning to him, and then they are nose to nose and Jack thinks _No, Daniel is not going to…_ , but he should have known, he’s surely bright enough to have known this—

Daniel’s mouth tastes predictably of beer, and there’s a day’s worth of stubble on his jaw, and it’s funny, really, that Jack should be noticing that right now, because Daniel’s hand is sliding to the back of his neck, pulling him closer – just like he pulled Carter, earlier – and it’s hilarious, actually, because Jack should start freaking out _right now_ , instead of leaning with the pull, instead of just _letting him do it_ , knowing that Carter is watching from the background, her eyes glittering, while Daniel is licking his lips open. 

He should start freaking out, and maybe he has already, because then Daniel’s _tongue_ is in his _mouth_ and it’s like sliding on a downward slope, with no purchase whatsoever, faster and faster still, and this is _Daniel, God damn it!_ , and it’s _Carter_ in on that bench behind him, and this is his _team_ , for cryin’ out loud!

“Jack,” Daniel says against his lips, and it’s really too close to stand, too close to be, too close and too wrong, and _damn it, it’s too early_ , but he’s here already, and Daniel is biting the corner of his mouth, and it’s somehow more intimate than the kissing has been, so Jack thinks that maybe it’s okay to want this, okay to need this, and maybe it’s better now than never.

Ultimately it is Jack who gathers the remaining food onto plates and puts out the fire. He closes and locks the door, both the porch and the front. He puts the meat into the fridge and takes out a bottle of mineral water. Then he walks into his bedroom, sets the bottle on the nightstand and sits on the floor by the bed, with one knee bent, and one arm braced against the mattress.

Carter’s head is turned away from him, her neck exposed, long and white and oddly vulnerable in this light. She is holding her arms above her head, and Jack reaches out to trace the underside of her elbow with his finger. Her skin is soft there, and a little moist. The central heating is on full, and if that can’t keep the chill out, then Jack doesn’t know what will.

He reaches a little further and traces his finger along her shoulder, her collarbone, follows the curve of her breast. He encounters Daniel’s arm, and Daniel looks down at him and it’s kind of funny, Jack realizes, but back there he didn’t imagine Daniel looking down at him and actually being _naked_.

Daniel is looking down at him, his hips never stopping their slow undulating movement, and there is something in this look – something that goes beyond what they are doing at the moment, as crazy as it is – something shimmering behind Daniel’s eyes that Jack can’t exactly put a finger on. He wants to ask; he opens his mouth, but Daniel is already looking away, so Jack moves his hand instead, sliding it up over the bunched muscles of Daniel’s arm, over the shoulder, to the nape, where he holds, presses, digs his fingers in.

Daniel gives a small grunt, and Carter turns her head at that, so Jack whispers _Sam_ on the breath that was supposed to be a question. 

And then he tries it again, because it sounds really good, it tastes good in his mouth. “Sam.”

She looks up at him, her eyes intense in the dimness of the room, and she breathes in sharply, once, like she wants to say something, but nothing comes out, and she shuts her eyes tight instead, but Jack is already leaning forward.

“Shhh,” he says, “you don’t have to.” 

And he has to get up to his knees to do that, and let go of Daniel’s neck, but she tastes good in his mouth, too, so it’s worth the effort. Her lips are wet and soft and _delicious_ , and she’s all he ever imagined she would be, and he swallows her sob, and then a muffled _Oh God_ , because Daniel has just changed pace, so Jack pulls back again to watch. 

But Daniel is biting his lip, eyes closed, and Jack thinks, _damn it, Daniel, why do you have to be so inept at this_ , because Daniel is clearly holding back already, and Jack knows Carter is nowhere even near. And then he thinks that, since they are already doing this, they might as well do it right, so he reaches down and nudges Daniel’s stomach, and Daniel rises a little, allowing Jack more room. The movement makes Daniel change the angle as well, which is good, because Jack captures Carter’s answering moan with his mouth.

He keeps the pressure steady and the rhythm fast, and she’s already breathing tightly against his cheek, eyes shut and teeth clenched, and Jack thinks, _oh God, Carter_ , because she looks like she’s under enemy fire. She doesn’t make a sound, though, even when her body tenses, shudders, and she finally starts riding the wave. Jack lets her go then, so Daniel can finish it himself. 

And Daniel is close enough, too, because when Jack traces his wet fingers across Daniel’s belly, and up to his chest, where he finds and pinches a nipple, it’s as if he’s just pulled a trigger. Daniel bucks, then freezes, and his groan resonates deep in Jack’s ears, Jack’s head, Jack’s self.

The room is quiet for some time, after that.

\- * -

Carter is in the bathroom when Jack opens the bottle and hands it to Daniel, who sits up and extends his arm to take it. Their fingers don’t touch.

Daniel takes a long pull, his throat working, his skin smooth and shiny with sweat, slick and dark and blue in the shadows under his jaw, along the lines of his collarbones, and down across his stomach. Some of the water trickles down his chin, and Jack thinks that Daniel is probably doing that on purpose.

He should go. He should stand up and go, put as much distance and as many walls between them as possible. He should close himself in the bathroom downstairs, grab a towel and jerk off with his back to the mirror – and it would be just enough to get the edge off this need, just enough to drive away this longing he doesn’t, _really doesn’t_ need right now.

Daniel sets the bottle back on the nightstand and licks his lips, a short, precise flick of tongue, probably more reflex than a conscious effort. His body is black and blue and his eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, but Jack knows that Daniel is not really sleepy. Not yet. 

He should go. It’s really not too late to go, it’s just his body calling to him with selfish insistence, and it’s never been difficult to satisfy the calling of the flesh. Would be easy now, would be even more than easy, without having to look into Daniel’s eyes, without having to look at Daniel’s _mouth_ and _want this_ , truly, desperately want this—

Daniel backs up a little on the bed, propped up on one elbow, one leg stretched, the other bent at the knee. And then he smiles, his teeth astonishingly white in the near darkness—

—and Jack forgets to breathe, because everything about Daniel’s body says, _choose_.

He is sprawled across the bed when Carter comes back from the bathroom. His shirt is still on, because there were too many buttons to bother, and once Daniel got a green light, he was pretty damn fast. Carter is walking slowly towards them, hips swaying, an odd little smile playing around her lips. She picks up the bottle and takes a long drink, then sits by Jack’s head and leans in to kiss him. She smells of Jack’s soap, and her mouth is cold and wet with the water.

Daniel does good work, slow and tight, hand in sync, and Jack thinks that this is okay, this is good, because it somehow wouldn’t feel right to have Carter doing this, it is so much better kissing her instead.

He keeps himself quiet when he comes, because it’s easier not to decide on a name.

\- * -

The next day, Carter breaks a cup. She holds it in her hand, the edge cutting into her skin, and the blood drips slowly onto the floor.

She was shaking the water out of the cup over the kitchen sink when Jack came in and turned on the radio. The music flowed softly, some classic jazz from the local station, and Jack reached for the cupboard, humming the tune along with the guitars. He almost dropped a box of cereal when he heard the crack.

Daniel doesn’t react at first. He is sitting by the table, frowning over his glasses at Carter, and she looks back at him helplessly.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and her voice is pained and broken. Bleeding. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Daniel sits with her in the kitchen and holds her until the SFs arrive. 

“Nobody’s going to hurt you, Sam” he says, rocking her in his arms, stroking and kissing her hair. “We all love you. We love you very much.”


	2. Chapter 2

_this is painful, this is sweet,  
this is all I’ll ever need_

 

A chant, a chant, a hula hoop, there’s music playing on the radio.

Damn, am I pretty!

I’ll pick you up from school, dear…

So bright. It’s so bright. And I can touch it. I’m touching it. 

The parade is this way. Don’t spill the ice-cream on your dress, honey.

Oh god, harder, please, _harder_!

Jingle, jingle, little star.

_I will tell you something you don’t know about me._

The dress is tight, and holy _fuck_ the high heels are the devil’s own invention. But there will be an arm steadying me tonight, a strong arm, like a man’s arm should be, and isn’t it something that I’ve always wanted?

He’ll knock on my door and bring me flowers, red as my lipstick and my dress. I’ll take his arm, I’ll let him lead, and my prince with a shining badge will lead me someplace nice. 

We’ll eat, we’ll dance, we’ll share a joke or two. Um, sorry, that one’s classified. 

And I will drink too much, and pretend that I didn’t, which I’m really good at, ‘cause I’ve drunk my share with all the best guys and beat them. And he’ll believe me, because why should he not believe me? He’ll kiss the wine and lipstick, blood red on his mouth, and he will laugh, bright and sweet as sugar, ice-cream and candy floss. And I will sway into him and be sweet, I’ll stick to him like candy, lick it off his fingers. He will be embarrassed, but I know he likes it.

And he’ll say that I’m crazy, and he’ll wave at the waiter, and then he’ll take me home. We’ll drive through the night and pass the streetlights, a bright and shiny carousel, and by the time we get home he’ll be hungry all over again, so he’ll undress me and we will fuck on his bed. 

These sheets are new, he bought them for me. Silk. He will be tender and he will be romantic and all a girl could dream of. It will be good. It will be sweet. I’ll tell him I love him, because I guess I do. 

And when he’s blind and somewhere else, I’ll close my eyes and wish he had steel over his heart to match and tangle with mine.

\- * -

Jack stares at the four files on his desk.

Three of them have the _classified_ mark on it, and the last one has a picture on the first page. The former three Jack already knows by heart, and the latter… He can’t really decide what to do with the latter.

On a computer screen across from him Daniel is silent in the holding cell, arms under his head, legs crossed at the ankles. He is staring blankly at the ceiling. 

They wanted to strap him to the bed, just in case, and one of the doctors was stupid enough to repeat the suggestion, because he thought Jack hadn’t heard. They also wanted to take Carter to the _institution_ , one with the proper equipment and all—

“Make a list,” Jack said quietly. “You’ll have everything you need within one hour.”

Then he turned on his heel, closed himself in his office and forwarded the rest of the orders through Walter.

The cell is dim, and Daniel’s face obscured in shadow, just the whites of his eyes showing that he’s not asleep. 

They said that bright light may be a trigger, too, but the truth is, they have no clue what the trigger is, or even if there _is_ a trigger at all, they’re just grasping at straws, but Jack knows that it’s probably better to be safe than sorry.

The straps were there because it was just that kind of bed, the cell usually serving as an isolation room, and Jack still feels cold remembering how Daniel went quiet and limp when the SFs brought him inside. Their order had been just to lock him up, so they left him alone, but once the door closed, Daniel immediately went to sit in the farthest corner of the room, and that’s when Jack remembered, with painful clarity, that the threat of punishment was way worse than the punishment itself. He raged quietly at his own stupidity, so Walter wouldn’t see when he hurried to carry out another of the General’s orders.

Jack still can’t erase the image from the back of his eyes, though, and not for the lack of trying.

Daniel – blind, generous, forgiving Daniel – acknowledged the gesture at once. Just after the SFs had taken away the straps and cleared the room, Daniel got up from his corner, sat on the bed, then lay back and stretched slowly, casting a brief glance towards the security camera.

He hasn’t moved since.

Jack turns his attention from the screen, and back to the files.

She gave them both a clean bill of health, allowed them to go home. Not a word about possible aftereffects, not a word about possible damage. It says ‘medical doctor’ in the résumé, and the face on the photo inspires trust, and has an air of professionalism to it.

Or maybe it’s just the uniform, Jack thinks, disgusted, and remembers how Carter looked when he saw her the first time, in that military issue blue skirt, chin up and back straight, and the stride that said _don’t you dare fuck with me, buddy_. But her eyes were alight, and her smile was hungry for the new possibilities before her, and apart from self-confidence she radiated grace and beauty. Her professionalism was genuine, and her excitement so palpable Jack could taste it – and for that he loved her right from the start.

That small figure on the digital feed next to Daniel’s – this is Carter sleeping, white on white on white, a hospital gown, a bandaged hand, and a paleness Jack hasn’t seen on her since their first ride through the wormhole.

Water condensing, ice crystals on her cheek.

She cried, a little, earlier in the afternoon. The doctors calmed her down, gave her a few shots of something. She smiled at them, afterwards, so to Jack they said she looked fine.

Water in her mouth, her lips cold and wet. Kissing him.

Biting him – goddamnit, _biting_ him – as he came.

Fine? De _fine_ ‘fine’.

A three-hour gap, in the exact same place in both reports. Jack doesn’t really wonder why he missed that the first time. Due to the simplicity of the mission, the debriefing was scheduled for the following morning, and Teal’c hadn’t given him his report before Jack had left the mountain, so there hadn’t really been anything he could refer to.

Teal’c’s report doesn’t have the gap. Actually, it’s not that visible in the other two, either. It’s only a detail, but once confronted with Teal’c’s version, it turns into the detail, the one that gives the true meaning to the phrase ‘in hindsight’.

 _After failed attempts at communication_ , Daniel wrote.

And Carter echoed it in almost those exact same words. 

Teal’c, on the other hand, described a three-hour negotiation, in which he wasn’t allowed to participate, presumably due to his physical appearance. Presumably, because Daniel Jackson hadn’t been able to translate the language of the creatures they had encountered – even after the time he and Colonel Carter had spent negotiating with them – and therefore he could give Teal’c no suitable explanation. The creatures, though, made their intentions quite clear by simply not letting Teal’c into the negotiations chamber.

Which probably wasn’t a negotiations chamber, either, Jack thinks, pressing the heels of his hands to his temples.

“Fuck,” he says quietly, just because he’s in his office, and he’s the General, and he can do whatever he wants. Daniel said so.

There should be a sign on his wall, in big, block – and preferably red – letters. A necessary extract from the jungle of ‘can be, or can reasonably be perceived to be’, filtered and adjusted to the narrow minds of those who sometimes forget.

For him - it could even be written in Teal’c.

_Do not under any circumstances, whether intentional or accidental, fuck your subordinates._

Which Jack technically didn’t, because one blow job from Daniel doesn’t really count as fucking, does it?

Or wait, hold on there a second.

Teal’c wouldn’t say _fuck_. He ’d probably say _intercourse_ , or… something else equally multi-syllabled. 

Which wasn’t what Jack had, either.

Teal’c is in his quarters now. It wouldn’t be that difficult to get up, walk down the hall, and knock on that door. Teal’c would open, look at Jack from high above, framed in a doorway much too small for his body, intimidation personalized.

Then he’d probably just raise an eyebrow, so Jack would have to go first anyway.

‘T? Gotta minute? I was wondering… Do you perchance have a staff weapon lying somewhere around? Excellent. Would you mind smashing me on the head with it? Just once, for old time’s sake, say, like a master to an apprentice.’

Yeah, that would be just fine.

Except that Teal’c wouldn’t do it. He would nod, though, with that imperturbable expression of ‘I’m a hundred years old and I know everything… but I’m not going to tell you’, and he would say, bull’s-eying with no visible effort, 

‘I would gladly do so, O’Neill. But I believe it is not of me that you should be asking such a favor.’

Yup. Good old Teal’c. Always knowing exactly what you need to hear, and not hesitating to express it in the way which is guaranteed to bother you for several days at least. Gotta love the guy.

There’s a knock on the door, a hurried tapping of knuckles. Jack lays his palms flat on the desk. “Come in.”

The door opens and – of course – Walter’s worried face pops in. “I’m sorry to bother you, Sir, but there’s a…” he looks at a note he’s holding, enunciating carefully “a Pete Shanahan, Colorado Springs Police Department, on the stationary phone for Colonel Carter. He’s been calling for almost an hour now, Sir. We told him Colonel Carter was not available, and now he asks to let him speak with you. Should I tell him to—”

“No.” 

His own voice, surprisingly calm.

Carter is sleeping in the blue-white pixels on the monitor of his laptop. Walter is looking expectantly from the door.

Jack’s palms are sweaty against the cool surface of the desk. 

“It’s okay,” he says. Still calm. Amazing. “Put him through.”

\- * -

The commissary coffee tastes as it usually does – like the commissary coffee. Which doesn’t really say anything, unless you’ve actually tasted it at least once. And it takes years of drinking it – and then just one sip from Daniel’s cup (he’s not looking, fingers white with chalk, a streak of it across his brow where he pressed his fingers, thinking), something dark and rich from Daniel’s cup, something he brings to base from time to time and hides among his books – it takes that to fully understand the whole _concept_ of commissary coffee.

Helps to keep him awake, though. As far as the bright sides go, this is enough for Jack, for the moment.

He still has a few things to do, tonight.

It was easy to put on a businesslike face – not that the man at the other end of the connection could actually see him, and Jack knows that, damn it – and it was easy to bring an appropriate tone of voice for that short, clipped _O’Neill_. And it was easy to listen to the resulting stream of worry concealed in careful question marks. It wasn’t that difficult, either, to put down the phone, later, having assured the man that no, this is nothing unusual, really, we’ll have her contact you as soon as she is able to.

Yes, Colonel Carter is just fine. Yes, she came back to base yesterday evening. No, she is not available right now. Sorry, but this is classified information, and your clearance doesn’t cover that.

Because, honestly, what do you say to a man whose woman – _fiancée_ , Jack, you do remember the ring, don’t you? – whose fiancée you’ve seen go crazy before your very eyes? 

Right after you slept with her, while we’re at it. 

Oh, and plural, for that matter, ‘cause… hey, remember Daniel? Really nice fella, if a bit hunky these days. Still wears glasses, though. Forgets them from time to time, so go figure. Yeah, that one. Well, I sort of let him fuck your fiancée last night, while I watched. 

Ah, and sort of helped, too.

Can you spell ‘territorial’?

How easy to forget that normal people have other people who care for them, who worry about them when they disappear without a word – people who call them at work to make sure they are okay.

Easy to forget that, when the only people who call Jack quite regularly are the President or the Secretary of Defense. 

Jack spends some more time alone in his office. He touches the edges of the folder, stares for some time at the photo of the woman he was about to fire. Then puts the folder aside. Scrunches his empty ersatz-coffee cup. Throws it into the trash bin.

On the computer screen across from him Daniel is silent in the holding cell.


	3. Chapter 3

_let me love and let me bleed,  
this is all I’ll ever need_

 

Wind, wind, and there’s just salt on my skin. Oh, where have you flown me, bit by bit?

God, I’m blind after nightfall.

Yes, that’s right, now pick it up, slowly, be careful with that edge right here, good, now brush it off…

It’s cold. Oh god, it’s so cold. And it’s tearing me apart. I am made of shards.

Grandpa, why does this man need a rifle?

… _tighter_.

Sticks and stones, you stupid assholes.

_I will tell you something you don’t know about me._

Flip the page. Oh, such a simple act. 

Catch the edge – soft, soft paper clinging to your skin. Run your fingertips along the underside, rustling – becomes the upper side, now. Push, let go.

There’s no wind here to make them flutter, I don’t have to hold them down. The light by my bed is low, close. There’s a storm tonight, outside my windows, dark and cold and cutting wind, but I’m warm and safe and alone.

I’m reading now, but I’ll close the book or close my eyes on the book, either way I’ll sleep with the light on. The wind will howl, and it will be like home, except there’ll be sweat on my skin while there shouldn’t be any, not under that sky. But it’s not that sky, and there’s no way to pretend it is, even though I will dream tonight because I left the heating on full blast and closed the windows. The sound of the air conditioning irritates me.

I’m reading now, but I’ll sleep with the book nearby, and I’ll probably find it under the bed in the morning, or whenever I wake up. But I’ll wake up and I’ll be hard when I do, and the lamp will still be on, so you could be watching me do this, as I flex my fingers and pretend it’s you. 

You could be watching from where I can’t see you, as I coil tight and gasp for breath, and it’s just a nice little harmless fantasy I’m playing before I go back to sleep.

But I never dream it.

I wish I would.

\- * -

The first thing that Jack notices when the door is opened for him, is the way Daniel’s shirt has ridden up his stomach, baring a patch of skin just over the waistband – because Daniel struggled back there, just a little, and obviously hasn’t righted his clothes since.

Jack stops in the doorway, and Daniel turns his head. His arms are bare in the black t-shirt.

“Hi, Jack.”

Daniel’s arms are bare in the black t-shirt, and Jack finds himself thinking of the nape of Daniel’s neck and of the sound Daniel made when Jack pressed, dug his fingers in. 

Jack is a General and _whatever he wants_ is just a catchphrase with no meaning whatsoever.

Daniel is watching him.

“Jack?” he says quietly, frowning a little. And then, because Jack is still not moving from his spot by the door, “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything crazy.” He smiles briefly, teeth flashing yellowish white in the overhead light, and Jack is suddenly reminded that Daniel can seem normal even at his wackiest, because then Daniel says—

“You can always tie me up if you want to.”

—and there’s your bitter pill, General, and _damn it_ , he so didn’t need that image right now. 

Jack swallows and forces his body into movement, into reaching the chair someone left for him at a safe distance from Daniel’s bed. He sits. There, it wasn’t that difficult, was it?

“I’m sorry about that, Daniel,” he says. “It was…” and he stops, because this – _this_ is difficult, and damn he should have known that by now, shouldn’t he?

Daniel watches him for a while, that blank look he always gets when Jack starts apologizing for something – it’s as if he’s watching some odd specimen on display, not being sure if it’s genuine or just a part of some elaborate setup. But then he nods, slowly, once.

He doesn’t say it’s okay, though. 

“How is Sam?”

High as a kite. Shiny, happy and sleeping right now, loaded with things that have names Jack can’t even pronounce correctly, much less remember.

“She’s fine,” Jack says. And then, because, honestly, he’s just relaying information, so he might as well relay it all. “Her… Pete called. Said she ran away from him last night.” A pause. A smile – weary, probably, from the feel of it stretching his face. “I told him to stay tuned.”

If he was hoping for some reaction, he doesn’t get it. There is another nod, and then Daniel just lies back and resumes staring at the ceiling.

They’ve done some preliminary tests, and told Jack some pretty disturbing things. They showed him brain scans and charts with a whole lot of numbers, and they used words like _trauma_ , _mental disorder_ and _possible neurosis_. And Jack didn’t like these words a bit. He didn’t comment, though, didn’t even ask them to repeat that in English. He just told them to bring him a full report. And to stop bugging Daniel. He’s had enough already.

They’ve all had enough.

The overhead light is sickly yellow-green. The walls are empty and damn, it’s dark in here, and there’s nothing to read. Daniel must be going crazy even without—

“So it’s images and sounds for Sam,” Daniel says suddenly, and Jack lifts his head from where he was looking down at his clasped hands. Daniel is still studying the ceiling, his voice quiet and matter-of-fact. “And how about me? Do they have a stress test planned for me already?” 

Daniel is apparently still quite lucid, because he manages to load that last sentence with enough sarcasm that it’s dripping off the edges.

“Today,” he continues cheerfully, “we see if Doctor Jackson is afraid of heights. And tomorrow, ladies and gentlemen,” he makes a small gesture towards the ceiling, “trial by fire.” 

Then again, maybe not so lucid. “Daniel—”

“They might never find it, Jack.” Daniel pushes his body up, props himself on both elbows. His eyes are bright, too bright, and Jack wonders if they were that bright before, and he just somehow failed to notice. “Did you entertain that thought for a moment, because I honestly don’t think you did.”

Daniel’s eyes were bright, and the rims of his glasses were cold against Jack’s cheek.

Later, Daniel was naked and bent over Jack, and the glasses were lying on the nightstand.

“Daniel.” Quietly. With just enough confidence to even make himself believe it. “They figured it out with Carter, they will figure it out with you.”

There’s a frown – quite sane from where Jack is sitting – and then Daniel bites his lip.

“Perhaps,” he says slowly, the frown almost painful. “Eventually.” A glance up. Bright, so bright. “But probably not all of it. Because how can you be sure you found it when it’s not fully manifested yet? You see, we got quite rewired back there, Jack…”

—and then Daniel snaps his mouth shut.

Oh, _Christ_. 

They showed him charts, they showed him numbers, their words cold and hammering like hail against a windshield.

But they never really told him what happened.

A serious mindfuck, by Jack’s terms, but he didn’t say a word.

Carter smiled, back there, and swayed her hips, treading softly to the music only she could hear, and that would probably make Jack’s ears bleed.

She danced towards him across the bedroom, bright and sleek and shiny like a porcelain doll. She sat on the bed and smiled, and she kissed him, but she wasn’t there.

Daniel moaned aloud as Jack came, and dug his fingers into Jack’s hip.

God, what a fucking mess.

“And that,” Daniel continues, very carefully now, as if making sure he has full control over what he’s saying, “means no more gate trips for SG-1. We’re off the map. Toast. Probably compromised enough that we can’t even be allowed to go to a supermarket without risk of injury to life and limb. How do you like that, Jack?” 

Jack wants to say he doesn’t like that, not a bit, and _for crying out loud, Daniel, just stop it_ , but suddenly there’s that wide-eyed look, as if Daniel just stumbled upon something unbelievably astounding, his mouth open on a shallow intake of breath. The enlightenment lasts for a second or two, and then Daniel points an accusing finger towards him.

“Or maybe you don’t really care, do you, Jack? After all, we haven’t been SG-1 for quite some time now, have we?”

Oh, you nasty little shit.

Jack digs his elbows into his thighs, his fingers laced together tight to keep from clawing at his face.

Okay, it’s just all that colorful stuff firing blindly in Daniel’s brain. It’s just that, nothing else, nothing more. So be _patient_ here, damn it.

Funny word, come to think of that.

So, _patiently_ , then.

“Is that why you didn’t tell me?”

 _Is that why you did this?_ rattles in Jack’s brain, but he can’t say that. The security camera is blinking at him from the corner.

The slightly blurry eyes focus on him from behind the glasses. The finger curls back and Daniel’s hand falls to his side. He doesn’t say anything, though, he just raises his eyebrows questioningly.

Fucking clueless now? Sure. I’m not buying that, Daniel.

“Is that why you didn’t tell me.” Jack repeats. “Because you thought I’d dismantle SG-1?”

But Daniel does look positively confused there, for a second, and Jack can almost see the wheels turning, the colors flashing bright on the brain scan. Then it clicks, a literal light-bulb, and Daniel’s face scrunches up.

“No Jack,” he says quietly. “It’s not why we didn’t tell you.”

And then Daniel just lies back on the bed and turns his head away.

Conversation over, Jack. You can fuck off now.

Jack sighs. He never really thought that one would be easy, did he?

It was easy, the morning after. Carter put on the coffee, and Daniel went to get the newspaper. Jack hummed off-key in the bathroom.

He had awakened with Carter’s face against his chest and Daniel’s breath tickling the back of his neck.

It had felt good.

Oh, what a fucking, fucking mess.

“Why then, if you don’t mind?” He lets the question hang, but Daniel doesn’t answer. He doesn’t look at Jack, he doesn’t even move.

Okay. Fine.

“Have it your way, Daniel. You can tell me, or you can tell them. Either way, you will have to spill it all to someone.”

And though he knows it sucks as a tactic – and surely Daniel is too clever to fall for that – Jack stands up, the chair rattling, and makes it to the door in two angry strides.

Maybe Carter is awake by now. It will be easier with her. She’s the one who has to take orders, after all.

And she wasn’t the one sucking Jack off last night, so she won’t feel like she has any special rights.

Jack raises his hand to knock on the door so the airman outside will let him out.

“She screamed, Jack,” Daniel says then, very quietly, and Jack freezes with his hand halfway to the door.

When he turns around, Daniel is on his back, looking at the ceiling again. His breath is hitching, and it’s odd, Jack thinks, seeing him like this, but then he realizes it’s probably because he hasn’t seen Daniel like this in a very long time.

Maybe he just got accustomed.

Jack lets his hand fall but he doesn’t move otherwise.

“She screamed,” Daniel repeats, and then he grimaces, against pain or memory, Jack can’t really tell. “And I think I screamed, too, at some point, because I couldn’t hear her any more, but I knew, I _felt_ she was still there beside me...”

Daniel’s eyes are shimmering.

“…and there were images, Jack, so many images. I tried, I really, really tried to make sense of them, but they were just changing too fast. They were slipping and I couldn’t… I couldn’t catch them… And it _hurt_ … it hurt so much, and I _knew_ they were doing the same to Sam, and oh _god, Jack_ …”

Full of light, Jack thinks, Daniel’s eyes are full of light.

“…and I can’t describe it. I couldn’t describe it to anyone. How do you describe something that is beyond comprehension?”

Daniel is looking at him now and Jack recognizes the look. It is the same look Daniel gave him before, in the night, when Carter was Sam and Daniel’s body said _choose_.

“I wished you were there, Jack,” Daniel says, then immediately corrects himself. “ _We_ wished you were there.” And then his eyes go wide, as if he’s just only realized how it sounds, cages of rats clattering behind it, so he almost trips over his next words. “Not _instead_ of us, Jack, oh no, please don’t think that…We wanted you _with us_.”

The alarms go off in Jack’s brain even before he’s finished processing the words. It’s an automatic reaction, something ingrained so deep in his military brain that it’s just impossible to remove—

“…couldn't tell you, but we wanted to _show_ you. And that’s why we did it, Jack. We needed you to…” 

—and he hates himself for it, but he snaps warningly just the same—

“ _Daniel._ ”

—and Daniel stops talking, at once.

Still lucid, thank God. Still sane enough to keep their asses safe.

“Let’s just…” Jack says, and there are so many things he could say now, but so many things he can’t. “Let’s just wait with this until you are more of yourself, okay?” he finishes lamely, for the benefit of the recording, and the greedy army of shrinks that will be seeing all this, analyzing all this, taking it all apart.

Daniel nods, blinking the moisture out of his eyes. That’s good. Get a grip, soldier.

“Okay,” he whispers, and then – stupid, stupid, stubborn Daniel, “But you _were_ yourself, Jack.”

Breathe. Don’t think about your sorry soon-to-be-court-martialed ass. It’s not really that important at the moment.

Think about Carter, about how she looked in that uniform, about how you would like her to keep wearing it with pride.

Think about how you would like them both to get well…

…without speaking a goddamned _word_ about what happened back there, at your house.

And _Christ_ , how he hates himself right now.

“Get some rest, Daniel,” he grates out. “You’ll tell me about it later.”

 _Please_ , Daniel. It’s not just about you and me here.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

Daniel doesn’t say anything for a while. He’s still watching Jack – but that shimmering look in his eyes is gone. He nods finally, then closes his eyes and lies back on the bed.

The camera in the corner records General O’Neill leaving the room with no further comment.

\- * -

There never is a later.

SG-8 comes back with injuries, and one man short. There are orders to be given, a rescue mission to be planned. Then, there is waiting to be done, and in the middle of it all it would be good for the General to actually get some sleep, yes, thank you Walter.

So he never is there when Carter wakes up and just won’t stop screaming. He never is there when the doctors rush in with empty words, and then with needles and violence as they hold her down and strap her to the bed. He never is there when she falls asleep at last, pumped with as many sedatives as possible without risking overdose, with watchful eyes constantly on her, with the camera blinking, recording every passing minute.

Daniel is crying quietly in the corner of the isolation room.


	4. Chapter 4

_apprentice_

 

swirling shimmering a body my body a light alight

he spins around, catches a mouthful of static between his teeth

“Is this all you’ve got!?”

his throat is raw from screaming

it’s so bright, so bright

his thoughts are cold, co cold

he is made of shards

“Is that all you’ve got, you fucking sons-of-bitches!?”

they have no right, _they have no right to give him this!_ , he didn’t want it

they never asked

he tries to look around, except there is no looking around, not in this place, wherever it is, it’s bright, so bright, and he thinks he’s moving, but he cannot really move, he has no body

nobody

_something you don’t know about me_

“Why don’t you just show yourself, so we can talk about it like goddamn adults!? Or don’t you have the guts to…”

“_GeneralJack.”

he spins, or there is just the sensation of spinning, hard to tell in the blinding white

someone is standing

floating

_is_

Someone is there.

\- * -

The day General O’Neill embarks on his first mission, all is quiet at the SGC.

There are no vicious plants devouring the base, no entities hidden in the mainframe, and no artificial bugs intent on playing with the self-destruct. Other than the two night-shift technicians sitting at the consoles, running a weekly maintenance program, there is no impending doom.

The rescue mission went as planned, no casualties and no one injured, mostly due to the incredible stupidity of the Jaffa guarding the gate. Jack gave SG-8 and SG-11 a three-day stand-down, thus sending the last remaining teams on a short vacation with a weekend ahead. 

The lights are low, the halls are empty, all surfaces polished and clean. Somewhere on the upper levels there’s a skeleton medical crew remaining, blinking at the equipment with caffeine eyes. Other than that the mountain is asleep.

Later he will probably say that the circumstances were favorable, so the decision wasn’t that difficult to make.

Daniel will probably not believe him.

Daniel is sleeping now, murmuring about sounds and lights and images he couldn’t comprehend.

As Jack enters the empty gate room, the technicians look up from the consoles to stare down at him, eyes like saucers. Jack thinks they must be new, because they apparently haven’t seen the General in full battle gear before. 

The General gives them a smile and a little wave. “Hello up there,” he says, and then points at the gate, not waiting for them to answer. “P5X-979. Beam me up, kids.”

They sit dumbfounded for a moment, so Jack tilts his head expectantly. That seems to wake the older one, who jumps in his seat.

“Sir! Yes, Sir!”

So, Jack thinks, the kid has apparently been here long enough to recognize an order. Good. 

On the other hand, there’s the fact that the General leaving his post in the middle of the night doesn’t seem suspicious to any of them. Not so good, in the long term. Jack makes a note in his mind to send everyone a memo; later.

In this case, however, it’s excellent. The technicians fumble around briefly in search of the address, and in a short while the gate starts spinning.

Carter stopped screaming for a moment just to say ‘Oh, _pretty_ ’ and then she didn’t say anything else. She’d already stopped recognizing anyone by then.

Jack couldn’t completely shake off the feeling of relief.

He felt sick.

“Chevron one engaged!” announces the younger technician, with visible glee, and Jack wants to say, _Oh for crying out loud, just dial the damn thing!_ , but there really is no reason to spoil the kid’s fun—

“O’Neill.”

Jack freezes at the foot of the ramp.

_Crap._

Easy to forget that the years of living on base made Teal’c hyper-aware of every shiver, rattle and hum that doesn’t sound familiar, especially at this hour. And it’s even easier to forget that by now the hundred-some-year-old Jaffa reads Jack like a book.

Green on green, zat at the belt, staff weapon in hand and gold on his forehead, Teal’c is the immovable object against any protests that Jack would attempt to make, when he steps forward to stand beside the General on their way to the gate.

“I will accompany you,” he informs Jack quietly, and – of course – it is not a question.

Above them, the cheery voice announces the chevrons engaging, one by one.

Teal’c doesn’t ask. He doesn’t make a single comment about this being an extremely unwise, if not downright stupid mission. He doesn’t even make a comment about a general going into the field not being the most sophisticated tactical maneuver. 

And yes, maybe that does make Jack a bad leader, maybe he’s never had what it takes to be ‘the man’, and yes, maybe it does put him at risk of _another_ court martial – at least, should he not return before morning, which he plans to, honestly – and maybe it doesn’t make him the best strategist of all, but oh, screw it.

Screw it, because maybe out there somewhere, in someone’s eyes – and he doesn’t go there on a daily basis, not any more – maybe somewhere out there it makes him a good man. 

Or at least a decent one.

Daniel would probably have said that, a long time ago.

Jack likes to think he would. It makes him feel a bit less sick to his stomach.

So when he steps through the wormhole for the first time in what feels like ages, it feels like the only logical thing to do.

\- * -

“_GeneralJack, we are pleased to see you.”

Jack swallows, and there is a sensation of swallowing, so it may even be real. He doesn’t really give a damn about it, not now.

Daniel is standing… floating… _is_ before him, in a full field uniform, complete with glasses and a digicam in one hand. He looks blissfully sane. The corner of his mouth is curled up in a soft smile.

Jack’s throat is dry. “Are you now.”

“Yes,” Daniel smiles wider. “We are glad we finally managed to establish a common interface with your class.” Then he frowns, and God, they must have all the expressions down pat, because the eyebrows come together exactly as if they were real. “Perhaps you wish for the other theme to be applied instead of this one?”

A _What?_ skitters through Jack’s mind, but then Daniel is already flickering, and Jack thinks _No_ , but instead of Daniel there’s Carter already, all in green, a cap on her head, a P-90 on a strap over her shoulder.

It feels somehow stupid now to say _No, that one was just fine_ , but he has to say something before they get the idea to show him his own… theme.

“How about you just show _yourself_?” he says. “Wouldn’t it be easier than all this...” he waves a hand in the general direction of Carter, “mimicking stuff?”

There is a frown again, and Jack discovers that Carter doesn’t do it even half as convincingly as Daniel did. Something to note, maybe ponder later.

“Your sensors would not be able to comprehend our form,” Carter says at last, and honestly, she looks as if she doesn’t really understand what she’s saying, which must be a first, and therefore twice as weird for Jack to see.

“That ugly, huh,” he says, and then at the blank look at his former 2IC’s face – it’s _not really Carter_ , damn it, how difficult is it to remember that! – he adds, “Never mind.”

“We are glad you have decided on a second iteration,” the not-Carter says after a short pause, “after we failed to establish communication in the course of the first one.”

Iteration? _Huh_?

“Yeah, about that.” Jack wants to stand taller, but there’s really no place to stand. He’d gladly lay his arm along his gun now – just a little sign of authority – but there’s no gun here, except the not-Carter’s, so the authoritative voice will have to do. “My…” he thinks _friends_ , but he knows better than to give weapons away freely, “…people, who tried to establish contact with you last time, came home… badly injured. I would like to know why you did this. Then we can talk.” A pause, and then, off-handedly, because it’s always better to make it sound like he has something to offer, “Maybe.”

There is silence from the other side. The not-Carter is standing… floating – oh for crying out loud: _standing_! – quiet, breathing slowly and blinking from time to time. She is swaying a little, in time with her breath, or maybe it’s the white revolving around them, Jack isn’t sure.

And then she snaps back to life so suddenly it would have made Jack drop something if he had something to drop.

“We apologize. It appears that we have not calculated the protocol parameters correctly the first time…”

Oh, that you did, you little fuckers.

“…and there might have been collisions, but we have adjusted the settings now. We apologize.” 

Then she goes into that… _idle_ state again, and Jack finds himself grateful that this isn’t Daniel, after all.

Daniel would tilt his head and smile, expectantly. 

_Is that all you can do, Jack? You come all this way down for a little chat? Do you at least have a back-up plan to this?_

There’s always a back-up plan, Daniel. You know that. You’ve witnessed my back-up plans, and you’ve even messed up some of them. But for your information – right now I’m _negotiating_. It’s good to know where you’re standing, before…

_Floating…_

What-ever.

_Just saying…_

“You apologize,” Jack says. “You know what? Fuck you and your apologizing. I’m not… _interfacing_ with you. I’m not interested in talking to you. In fact, you let me out right now and maybe we won’t be forced to reciprocate.”

There. How’d you like that one, Daniel?

_You ever tried poker, Jack? Would be good to exercise…_

Oh, shut up.

Carter flickers uncertainly, and for a moment there Jack is afraid they would actually listen – they are in his fucking _head_ , after all – but then Carter’s eyes click back alive again.

“Your class has much to offer, _GeneralJack. And our class has much to offer as well. We would insist that you reconsider. We believe the benefit would be mutual.”

See? And that’s what I call a good negotiation, Daniel. 

“Excellent.” Jack smiles and puts his hands together, though it’s probably not what he thinks, here, in the white. “So. In case you didn’t know, there is that custom where I come from that says we should exchange tokens of friendship, and if you’re not familiar with the concept, then let me explain…”

The white clots his ears and _listening_ envelops him from all around.


	5. Chapter 5

_shimmering_

 

Daniel is sitting cross-legged on the infirmary bed, a bent shape of blue on black on green sheets, eyes shielded behind the glasses, and – predictably – immersed in a book. A medical book for that matter, but that’s probably because there is not much else to read down here. He looks really fascinated by what he is reading – either that, or he doesn’t understand a thing – because his eyebrows are perched precariously low on his forehead.

“Hey.”

Daniel raises his head and squints up at Jack in the low light, eyes pale and blurry behind the lenses. “Hi, Jack.”

Daniel blinked up at him from the corner and said _Jack?_ , but his eyes never focused anywhere near Jack’s face. He let himself be pulled to his feet, though, and then trotted obediently behind Teal’c, like a child lost in the mist, not really sure where he was going, but following the broad-shouldered shadow just in case – probably safer that way.

Jack puts his hands into his pockets. “Feeling any better?”

“Yeah, I’m… fine. Actually, I’m finding a lot about…um…” Daniel scowls at the book. “…laparoscopy. At the moment.”

In front of the event horizon Daniel stopped. He stared at the shimmering surface, not moving for a long while, with Teal’c waiting patiently behind him. Then he turned around and squinted up at the control room, eyes searching – but Jack knew that Daniel couldn’t see a thing without his glasses, so he didn’t wave. Eventually Daniel turned back to the gate, stepped forward and disappeared with a tiny plop, like a stray stone under the surface of the water, followed by a much larger stone, which was Teal’c carrying Carter in his arms.

Jack looks around the infirmary and then points his chin at the empty bed next to Daniel’s. 

“Carter?” 

He may be wrong, but Daniel looks vaguely uneasy. “She’s… Um…”

Jack narrows his eyes. “What?”

“Daniel, I only managed t… _Oh_. Hello, Sir.”

He turns around to find Carter in the doorway, blue on black with bare arms, hair awry and a guilty expression on her face. She is clutching an armful of folders to her chest. When Jack raises his eyebrows at them, she makes a move as if trying to hide them behind her back.

“Carter.” Jack acknowledges her politely. And then, because he just _has to_ , “What’s that?”

She smiles, a bit too innocently to his liking. “Just some light reading, Sir.”

He knows better than to comment on that. Instead he reaches and pulls the topmost folder out of her grip. 

Teal’c had to carry her in his arms through the gate, because she stopped moving after the third day, and wouldn’t respond to anything but a penlight in the eye. The doctors said it was a coma, but Jack had already told them to pack their bags.

Walter had been confused.

The gate guys had kept their mouth shut, though.

Jack never got around to sending that memo.

Maps and charts of what must be a preliminary geological survey stare up at him colorfully from the page. Jack raises his eyebrows. “I thought I scheduled the briefing for the _next Tuesday_.”

Carter manages to look apologetic. “Yes, Sir, but,” she starts, but he’s already there.

“Ah. No buts, Carter, give me the rest of it.”

They were returned after two days, and then they lay unconscious for three more. On Tuesday Carter woke, sat up on the bed, moaned a _holy Hannah_ and promptly puked her guts out, just narrowly missing the proffered basin. Daniel was a bit less expressive physically, although, as Jack later heard from the resident nurse, he managed to make up for it verbally, if the nurse’s blush when she distinctly avoided quoting him was any indication.

Unfortunately, Jack was busy at the red phone at the time, immersed in negotiations. The President, bless his heart, seemed a bit pissed about Jack’s little venture off-world, but – not without a little persuasion – he agreed to let it slide. After all, Homeworld Security got a bunch of new, apparently hi-tech allies, and that had to count for something. Didn’t stop Jack from wondering what part exactly Hammond had played in this.

Carter passes him the folders obediently, and Jack slips them onto the nearest shelf. Out of the corner of his eye he can see her mimicking something at Daniel – well, damn them conspiring twins – so Jack says, in his most neutral tone, “I’ve heard Teal’c’s been subjecting you two to his full and uncensored Rod Stewart collection.”

He kicked out the resident psychiatrists, and then found the best specialists the Army had to offer. And they all said the same: there were no visible after-effects of any kind.

They even wanted to show Jack some brain scans, but he just shooed them away.

“So, what did you think about it?” he directs the question at both of them, but Daniel is already doing that close-mouthed, cheek-dimpled ‘I-am-being-really-really-polite-at-the-moment-but-you-better-not-test-me’ smile, and Carter is staring firmly at the far wall somewhere left of Jack’s shoulder.

“We are considering therapy, Sir,” she says with a completely straight face, and Jack has to smile, because if Carter is able to joke about it, then everything is all right with the world. He reaches into his pocket.

The doctors had taken them away at the very beginning. A trained Air Force officer could do a lot of damage with just two pieces of metal and a chain.

“Welcome back to active duty, Lieutenant Colonel,” Jack says quietly, reaching towards Carter and when she puts her hand out automatically, he drops the dog-tags into her palm.

He could keep the knowledge to himself, he knows that, but at the moment it seems only fair.

“The briefing is scheduled for Tuesday, 0800 hours,” he says slowly, watching her face. “A nice juicy planet, full of naquadah nobody has touched in ages. By the end of the next week you’ll be wishing for a vacation like this, so make a good use of your down-time, Colonel.”

He wishes he could say it out loud, but the camera is blinking, and there are people out there, who are better at reading body language than he is at faking it, so Jack keeps the smile firmly plastered to his face, and he hopes to God she will get the message right.

Carter is not smiling any more. She fingers the plates for a moment, almost tenderly, her thumb brushing over the indentations in the metal – drawing lines, drawing question marks on the polished surface. The muted light of the infirmary catches at the angles, gleams, shivers, tickles Jack’s eye.

Daniel is gently silent on the bed behind them.

At last Carter raises her arms and puts the chain around her neck. She looks up – and for a moment there is _Sam_ in the sadness of her look, there is _Sam_ in the way she takes a breath, shallow and a bit uncontrolled—

But then it’s Carter who straightens – shoulders, spine and all – and gives Jack what must be the sharpest salute he has ever seen.

“Thank you, Sir!”

He waves the salute away with a dismissive hand – because she will know anyway, won’t she? – and then he informs her, “There’s somebody waiting for you upstairs. You want to hurry, the weekend starts in…” he makes a show of peering at his watch, “crap, it’s already started. Well then,” he puts his hands together, bounces a little on his toes, “guess you gotta go use what’s left of it.”

Carter is grinning now. She nods at him – _Sir_ – then casts a brief glance at Daniel and his quiet _Bye, Sam_ , and she is out the door before Jack can even think 'naquadah'.

She breezes back two seconds later and grabs the folders from the shelf.

“You’re of course gonna drop them by the lab,” Jack says knowingly, but all he gets is a grin. “I’ll check, later,” he adds, but he’s already talking to an empty doorway.

He indulges himself in some more smiling, and then he turns around, to where Daniel is looking up at him, blue on black on the infirmary bed, book in his lap, and crinkles around his eyes.

And Jack finds it’s never been easier than this.

“You cleared for driving yet, Daniel?”

The crinkles smoothly rearrange themselves into a frown.

“Uh… no. No, I’m not.” 

Jack smiles and gestures a follow-me. “Come on then. I’ll drop you home.”

\- * -

Driving through the streets just for the pleasure of it has never been high on Jack’s list of favorite pastimes. And he never really understood Carter’s passion for doing so on two wheels only. Where is the fun when you can’t turn up the heat, and you won’t even hear your stereo over the wind howling in your ears?

But now he finds that driving home after a week of sixteen-hour workdays is truly a thing to savor.

The streetlights pass him by, one by one, a never ending row of fireflies, then flames, then torches, and the light washes over him and disappears, joins the collective blinking in the rearview mirror. They flicker and sink gradually into the black, but there is a next light coming near already, all golden and new, the night alive with them, a bright and shiny carousel.

“I can’t believe you did it, Jack,” Daniel says quietly.

Jack spares a glance to the side, but Daniel doesn’t turn his head. The light washes over them and disappears, outlines Daniel’s profile in an orange glow, then casts him back into darkness.

Jack shrugs. “Well, you know me…” And then, because there’s no sufficiently witty line coming – and he must be really, really tired for that to happen, “To be honest, I still can’t believe how I managed to pull it off, myself.” He tosses a little smile sideways. “Must have been my charm. It always works on the good guys, just look at Thor. And it turns out my negotiation skills don’t suck that much after all, because—”

“Jack.”

Daniel’s voice is still quiet and not really commanding, but Jack closes his mouth anyway. He takes a deep breath and focuses back on driving. 

“We both know you didn’t go there to get new allies,” Daniel tells the windshield.

Well, Jack thinks, _technically_ … yes. But I did get them, and I also managed to get your marbles back, and isn’t the end result what really counts?

“—you went there only to get your brain fried like we had ours and you just got incredibly lucky.”

Oh, well; there’s that.

Jack drums his fingers against the steering wheel. They make a soft tapping sound against the leather. 

“You’d all have done the same for me,” he says finally, managing to sound light to his own ears. “So there’s no big deal, I guess.”

Daniel looks at him, startled, as if afraid Jack would ever presume otherwise. “Of course we would, Jack. But that’s because we’re…” he hesitates, his hand flying briefly from his lap, fingers wrapping around the empty air – as if wrapping his mind around a thought was difficult somehow. 

Jack thinks that it probably is, after three days in a coma. 

“…that’s because we’re the _soldiers_ , Jack,” Daniel concludes, with an air of accomplishment. “We are _supposed_ to do that, whether you…” and then he snaps his mouth shut, but it’s too late, because Jack is already grinning.

“Are the General and can do whatever I want?”

Daniel stares at him for a moment. Then he closes his hand, drops it back to his lap and turns his face back to the passenger window, into the wash-and-disappear of the lights.

“I’ll never live this one down, will I?” He sounds annoyed, but Jack can feel a trace of smile in that voice.

“Nope,” Jack turns his attention back to the road. “At least not as long as I’m in charge.”

Colorado Springs welcomes them with soft lights and early-night quiet. Jack takes a turn, driving more by habit than attention, then slows down and lets the car roll through the sleepy streets. They still have a few blocks to go, but they’re not in a hurry.

“How do you feel switching the roles, Jack?”

Daniel cuts through his thoughts with the usual precision of ‘I’m reading you like a book, so you might as well accept it’. Out of the corner of his eye Jack can see the streetlights blinking inside Daniel’s glasses, crooked and fluorescent.

Jack doesn’t make eye contact. He only casts a smile in Daniel’s direction and shrugs. 

“Well,” he says knowingly, “maturing’s not that bad, if you’re leaving out the wrinkles.”

Daniel snorts softly at that and then turns back to stare out of the window.

The lights are off in Daniel’s building when Jack pulls into the parking lot. There is ice on the sidewalk and some snow on the still green grass. The trees shimmer coldly in their solitary spots, branches encrusted with a thin layer of frost. True, it’s not Minnesota, but Jack finds himself wondering how it could get so cold so fast without him even noticing. 

Well, duh. That’s what you get for being closed for days in a missile silo, breathing recycled air and making illegal trips to sunny, bright-skied and green-grassed places.

Oh, how he loves his job.

“Will you come upstairs?” Daniel’s voice is gentle in the silence.

The question is pretty simple, when you look at it. And delivered pretty simply, too. Not insistent, not even a bit – Daniel wouldn’t be Daniel then, would he? Even with the soldier thing and all…

Jack shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” And then, because frankly any excuse will do now he says, “You should get some rest, too. Carter seemed already bored to tears and she’ll probably be studying those preliminary surveys over the weekend, so you better watch out on Tuesday. She’s gonna kick your asses through the wormhole if you’re not fast en—”

“I was _myself_ back there,” Daniel says.

—and Jack should have expected that, really; he can’t say he wasn't expecting that, at some point. 

Well, okay, maybe not this soon.

There’s silence in the car and Jack remembers he had been planning to turn on the radio – too late now – and he’d also been planning to say goodnight and just drop Daniel off by his door, instead of pulling into the parking lot – too late for that, either – and he knows he can’t look at Daniel’s face now, won’t look, because—

Daniel is looking at him, shimmering eyes fixed on Jack’s.

It feels like drowning.

_—and funny thing, that, he used to think it was just a figure of speech._

Daniel’s voice was soft and perfectly sane in the infirmary, and his eyes were calm and quiet behind the glasses. And maybe it was the light, but back there Jack couldn’t see a trace of the shimmer in those eyes, not even a hint of that thing he’d wanted to ask about, before.

Damn, is he really _that_ bad at body language?

Jack swallows, finds his voice. It’s not that difficult, after all. And then he says, slowly and very, very carefully.

“I know, Daniel.”

So was Carter.

And so was I.

Well, maybe a few inhibitions shorter, but who’s counting.

Carter is going home with her prince with a shining badge. He’ll make her dinner and they’ll share some unclassified jokes over a bottle of wine. They’ll probably have a really nice evening.

And me? I’m driving home with you. We have just arrived.

Funny, how it all turns out in the end.

“You do?”

Daniel looks puzzled, his eyes searching Jack’s face for any sign of a lie. 

_Or are you saying this just because it’s a thing to say?_

There’s a challenge in Daniel’s eyes now, a challenge Jack has no choice but step up to. Besides, there’s no backing away, not really, now that he’s already hinted it to Carter.

Daniel deserves to know. It’s only fair this way.

Jack clears his throat.

“You told me that when you and Carter were back there, you saw things – images, sounds, lots of stuff you couldn’t understand.” 

He glances at Daniel, looking for confirmation, but Daniel doesn’t react. He is listening, though, closely, but not looking directly at Jack – just somewhere outside the window, or maybe at his reflection in it. Doesn’t matter now. Jack takes a deep breath.

“Well,” he says, “what they were doing was… they were _interfacing_. Adjusting… parameters, settings or whatever they said they had to adjust. The problem is, they have a different… way of communicating. They told me…” 

It really wasn’t that difficult to understand, back there, when it was explained to him. He didn’t even need charts or pictures, which alone had to count for something.

Explaining it to Daniel, on the other hand, is… kinda tricky.

“They told me they relied on memories, sort of like in a computer.” There, he said that, and Daniel isn’t even raising his eyebrows, which may be a good thing or a bad thing, Jack can’t really decide.

He turns his eyes back to where his hands are resting on the steering wheel. It’s… reassuring somehow, to have something solid under his palms, and not that endless, shapeless white.

“They store memories,” he continues, “so they can use them at any time they want. It’s their language, Daniel, it’s how they talk to each other. And it’s how they assumed we were communicating, too. So they sort of… _plugged_ you in, and…”

He’s never been good at that computer thing, and the explanation sounded quite close to what’s usually Carter’s area of expertise. But he had to cope, what with being the skilled negotiator and all. 

The correct word pops into his brain.

“ _Channeled_ you,” he says. “They channeled you to _each other_ , so they could… listen a little first. Listen and learn how you were communicating. But they screwed something up, and they…” 

_Fried your brains_ , he thinks, but he finds he can’t really say it, even though it sounded almost harmless when Daniel did. 

He drums his fingers on the wheel, scrubs a little at the leather.

“They screwed up, Daniel. And they were really, really sorry. They just,” he waves his hand, an abortive gesture that signifies nothing but his helplessness, “made a _mistake in their calculations_. But the thing is…” 

Ah, careful now. Uncharted territory here. 

But Daniel is still not looking at him, and Jack finds it a bit easier, without these eyes focused on his face. Maybe Daniel is doing it on purpose... Okay, not really a place for gratitude now. Get to the point.

_I will tell you something you don’t know about me._

“The thing is,” he says slowly, “they stored what they saw. And… and when I went there, alone, and they couldn’t interface me with anyone else, they… they sort of showed me what they got from you and Carter. They’ve already corrected their math by then, so we were able to talk, later. Negotiate, if you will. They’re a quite nice bunch of fellows, when you get to know them…” he trails off, unsure how to wrap it up, now that it’s out in the open. 

I never had the right to see any of it. And I never wanted to.

But I did. And I got back.

And then I got you back.

Oh, _crap_ , Daniel. _Say_ something.

Daniel is silent for a long time, his body tense, a stillness frozen on the verge of  bursting, and Jack wishes for a howling wind outside so he wouldn’t have to hear – to _feel_ – Daniels’s quiet breathing.

Finally Daniel unfastens his seatbelt with a loud snap and reaches for the door. He pauses with his fingers on the handle—

“Come upstairs, Jack,” he says, softly, not turning, not looking.

—and then he climbs out of the car and into the chilly night.

The stairway is cold and dark – the elevator is not working – and Jack has a unique opportunity to exercise his knees. Not a good thing, on any given day, and the week he’s had doesn’t really help things. The upstairs jog serves to warm him up a little – unnecessarily, as it turns out, because Daniel’s apartment greets them both with darkness, a sleepy silence…

…and a blast of heat so intense it makes sweat break on Jack’s skin even before he’s fully over the threshold.

“Homey,” he comments cheerfully, unzipping and then shrugging off his jacket. “You always leave the heating on full when you go off-world?”

Behind him Daniel flips on a switch for the small overhead light, and closes the door with a gentle click.

“Not really fond of winter,” he says, a little tightly, and it’s that hitch in Daniel’s voice that makes Jack turn around.

Daniel’s mouth doesn’t taste all that good, a little sour – must be the commissary coffee, and _why the hell does he even drink this stuff?_ – but Jack knows he isn’t exactly a picture of freshness himself. Daniel probably realizes that quite fast, because his mouth skitters to the side, leaving a wet trail along Jack’s cheek and jaw and—

“Ow, _Christ_.”

—Jack hisses, because even though they haven’t been out in the open for long, Daniel’s nose is already damn cold. Not to mention the glasses, which feel as if they’re made of pure ice, the lenses blistering cold against Jack’s skin.

Daniel doesn’t pull back, though. He chuckles softly into Jack’s neck instead, his hands fisted tight in Jack’s shirt.

…and then his mouth closes around Jack’s earlobe, freezing and wet and with a hint of _teeth_ , and Jack finds he doesn’t really mind the cold, because _god damn it_ , Daniel is _biting his earlobe_ , and _why the fuck am I still holding this jacket?_ He lets go of the jacket – it falls on the floor with a thump and a jingle of keys – and since he doesn’t have many things to do with his hand at the moment, he raises his arm to lay his palm gently at the nape of Daniel’s neck. 

He doesn’t press in, though. He makes a few slow circles, barely brushing the skin with his fingertips, oh, just to see how it feels. And it feels pretty damn good, along with Daniel doing those _amazing_ things to his earlobe, so Jack slides his fingers into Daniel’s hair and Daniel shudders against him, which feels even better. Jack thinks he may even be able to keep doing it for a while longer—

But Daniel pulls back, and Jack lets him go.

Disheveled, eyes hidden behind the steamed-up lenses, mouth curved up in a half-smile – and oddly alight in the dimness of the hallway – Daniel asks then, a little odd, and a little out-of-place: 

“Coffee?”

And Jack finds that odd and disheveled is exactly what he needs right now.

“Let me think,” he says, smiling. He cocks his head, pretending to consider. It doesn’t take long, though. “Nah. Not really fond of coffee.”

Daniel nods thoughtfully, once, and begins to unbutton his shirt.

The bedroom is just a few steps away, just behind that door to the left, but Jack finds he really doesn’t have the will or strength to move there just yet. He knows he should at least take his boots off, though, because Daniel’s carpet is clean and looks pretty damn expensive, so Jack drops gracelessly to one knee and starts untying the bootlaces by touch, not once taking his eyes off Daniel.

Daniel, who has just elevated the act of stripping to an art form. 

The shirt buttons slip through the holes, one by one, and the shirt is open and discarded. The belt slides out of the loops and clatters to the floor. The shoes are toed off, then kicked gently towards the wall, and Daniel lifts his hand to his face—

“Keep them on,” Jack says, standing up.

—and Daniel literally shivers, a full body tremble that ends with a flush creeping slowly onto his face and neck. He shuts his eyes tight, and swallows, again nodding, once. His hands are shaking when he catches the hem of his t-shirt and pulls the fabric over his head. He never pauses, though, unbuttoning his pants next and shrugging them off. And when he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs, Jack’s hands are already there, not really interfering, just helping to slide the white cotton down Daniel’s thighs.

They make it to the bedroom by touch, Jack’s hand preventing Daniel’s shoulder from hitting the doorframe. There’s no light in here, but it’s Daniel’s _bedroom_ , and the man surely knows where his own bed is, so Jack lets himself be led, pulled, pushed and then tripped, Daniel’s ankle at the back of his knees. He lands on the bed with a grunt, and Daniel is already on him, kissing and biting and tugging at his clothes.

And damn, it all feels really, really good, but the day’s been long, the week’s been long, and even though it might be pleasant to make a repeat of what they did before, it’s not exactly what Jack wants right now.

At least, not yet.

He grabs the roaming hands by the wrists and tugs upwards a little. Daniel stills at once, a suddenly uncertain shadow, curved over Jack’s body, outlined in orange from the hallway and in pale white from the street-side window.

“Jack?” Breathless. Already. My God.

Jack lets go of one wrist and reaches to the nightstand. Fumbles for the bedside lamp. Finds the switch. Flicks it on.

Daniel squints down at him from behind his glasses, sweaty and flushed and oh, so gloriously naked, and Jack swallows hard, because what he is about to do might just be too much. Too much of all this, and it’s just the _beginning_.

“I’m here, Daniel,” he says – hoarsely, but that’s because he can’t really help it; his vocal chords excused themselves a while ago.  
         
Daniel goes very, very still, his face a blank and his eyes pale and blue and shimmering and all Jack ever wanted to see. He is strung like a bow over Jack now, his hand a fist in Jack’s grip, the other hand empty, fingers curled around air. But he doesn’t seem to be catching it quite yet, the blank expression not wavering, so Jack says, slowly, “I’m watching you.”

—and Daniel makes a sound then, which is very much like a sob, but not exactly, because he clamps his mouth tight on it and shuts his eyes. 

Jack lets go, tracing his fingers along Daniel’s wrist. He raises a little, moving his hand to Daniel’s shoulder, pressing down, easing Daniel to the side, making him lie on his back in the yellow lamplight. Then he takes Daniel’s wrist in his hand, and guides it to the center of Daniel’s body.

Daniel is breathing shallowly, small, short gasps of breath, so Jack lies alongside him and catches the breathing in his mouth. Bitter. Sour. Jack doesn’t really mind. He slides his mouth along Daniel’s jaw, tracing the stubble with his lips.

“I’m here,” he repeats, directly into the shell of Daniel’s ear, tasting the salt and smelling the faint, sickly smell of the infirmary shampoo. “I’m watching you, Daniel.”

Daniel makes that sound again, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Then his hand slips further down, out of Jack’s fingers and Jack pulls back to watch.

The air in the room is almost hot, and there is sweat on Daniel’s skin, because it’s not that sky, never that sky, but at the moment it’s not even necessary to pretend that it is. Daniel’s hand is moving slowly, long, sure strokes, and Jack thinks it couldn’t get any better, it can’t get any better than this. This trust, this surrender, this… _loving_ , because that’s what it must be, surely it can’t be anything else than that, not with Daniel making these small, hungry noises, biting his lip and increasing the tempo, his mouth falling open—

“ _Jack_ …”

“I’m here.” A mantra, now, and they are both repeating it, Daniel pressing his head into the crook of Jack’s neck with a breathless cascade of _Jack, ohmygodJack_ , and Jack watching, listening, _taking it in_ , and whispering into Daniel’s hair, “I’m here.”

And when Daniel comes, it’s like a release of a long-held breath, the relief washing over Jack in a slow, slow wave, in a rush of heat along his nerves – as if he were the one who’s flushed, naked and gasping – while he lies fully clothed beside Daniel, and tastes liquid salt on Daniel’s temples.

\- * -

In the dark, in the warmth, in the drowsy silence of Daniel’s bed, Jack is hovering at the edge of sleep. He is lying on his back, with Daniel curled up beside him, Daniel’s fingers playing with a button of Jack’s shirt. Out, and in, and out, and in, and forth and back through the buttonhole.

Daniel wanted a repeat of before, of course. He murmured it into Jack’s neck and then breathed it into Jack’s ear. In detail.

But Jack told him, _tomorrow_. 

Jack told him, _right now I want you like this_.

Can you spell ‘territorial’?

Tomorrow he will wake up and open his eyes to the stale warmth of Daniel’s bedroom, to the pale light sifting through Daniel’s curtains. He will stretch his limbs and stay in bed for a little while, watching the light, and listening to Daniel breathe – _Daniel will be snoring, won’t he? Yeah, he always has_   – and then he will disentangle himself from the sheets and Daniel, and find Daniel’s bathroom half by touch, half by logic.

He will steal some of Daniel’s toothpaste and fumble around in Daniel’s cabinets for a spare razor. He will shave while looking at his face in Daniel’s mirror, but he won’t shower, ‘cause the sound would wake Daniel up. He’ll grab the jacket from where he left it last night on Daniel’s expensive carpet and he’ll step over Daniel’s clothes to get to the door. 

There’ll be ice on the sidewalk, and he’ll walk carefully to his car. The morning will be crisp and bright and his house will be quiet and empty, but that’s good, that’s how he likes it, that’s how it’s always been. 

He’ll make himself some breakfast, check his messages and mail, and then he’ll go for a walk. The cold will make his knees twinge, but the neighborhood looks quite nice this time of year, and he’s never considered a desk job among his favorites.

On Tuesday, Carter will show them diagrams and pictures, Teal’c will provide advice regarding weaponry and tactics, and Daniel will be late for the briefing, glasses steamed-up over a mug of that coffee he hides among books. 

Jack will give them a go and watch them disappear in the shimmering surface like stones in the water. Plunk. Plunk-plunk.

And when they come back, proud of yet another accomplishment for the Homeworld Security, he’ll listen to their summaries – perhaps throw a few well-earned praises for Carter, try to annoy Daniel just for the sake of it, or just exchange a few master-to-apprentice looks with Teal’c over the briefing table – and then he will send them home.

When he finishes his paperwork for the day and locks his office, the road from the mountain will be snowy and already dark.

Daniel will drop by in the evening. He’ll bring wine, frost and a confused expression, and Jack will press him against the front door and tell him to strip. There'll be no art in it, no tenderness, no patience. Jack’s couch will be closer than Jack’s bedroom, and by the time Jack forces himself in, Daniel will already be breathless, gasping and urging Jack on.

They’ll play chess, later. Then Daniel will leave. Before sleep, Jack will watch the game.

And it will be all that can be, or can reasonably be perceived to be.

It comes to him, slowly, in a wave of nausea on the precipice of sleep, in Daniel’s bed, in Daniel’s arms – the stunning realization of who exactly he is at the moment, and the nothing, the absolute _nothing_ he can do about it. 

Daniel is lying on his side, his forehead close to Jack’s shoulder, but not near enough to touch. His hand is warm against Jack’s chest, if a little too heavy, and his fingers have stilled, so it might as well be the stillness of sleeping, except it’s not. Not yet, because—

“Will Sam be okay?”

—because it’s the stillness of thinking.

Jack tears at the dark cobwebs around his thoughts and unglues his tongue from the roof of his mouth. It takes a while.

“Carter’s made her choice, Daniel” he says finally. “I hope she sticks to it.”

There’s a movement beside him, the hand on his chest pressing down for leverage, and Daniel raises his head and squints at Jack in the dimness.

“It’s _Sam_ , Jack” he says incredulously, and the logic is, of course, indisputable.

And it would make Jack laugh, if he had the strength to, but Daniel is right – this is _Carter_ they’re talking about, and _of course_ she will stick to it.

Well, unless some freakin’ high-tech aliens start messing with their heads again—

—but let’s just forget that for a while, shall we?

Daniel looks at him for a moment, eyes searching, and then he lies back down and relaxes against the pillows, apparently assured that Jack got it right. He moves his hand a little and his finger slips past the button of Jack’s collar, touches skin.

Jack pulled a sheet over them both, afterwards, and thought briefly of undressing, but his bones told him to shove it. The corner of the sheet is draped over his legs, his sock-clad feet sticking out – it’s too warm for the covers anyway – the rest of the sheet curved around Daniel’s naked back. Underneath the sheet, Daniel’s knee is touching Jack’s thigh, a single point of contact beside the finger now tracing his collarbone.

“How about you?” Jack asks quietly into the air. “Will you be okay?”

The finger traces his collarbone, dips into the hollow at the base of his throat. Slides slowly along his neck, brushes the pulse fluttering under his jaw. Sticks a little to Jack’s skin—

—and that’s when Jack knows that it’s been a mistake, he should never have done that, ever, because it is too much, too much for him to bear, his eyes full of that sight, his eyes blinded by that sight, of Daniel’s hand guided by his, Daniel on his back, chanting the unending stream of _ohgodJack_ into his ear, so strong, so alive, so beautiful, so heartbreakingly beautiful—

Jack feels all clammy and sweaty and so hopelessly inadequate, because this touch, this touch deserves so much more than this tired and worn-out skin, so much more than this shell of a cranky old man, with his hunger wearing thin and nothing to offer but the breaking of rules.

And he wants to say that, he wants to express this inadequacy somehow, but it’s difficult to find words –  in the dark, in the warmth, in the tangle of cobwebs, with Daniel’s smell on his hands, and Daniel’s taste in his mouth.

But then Daniel is rising, curved over Jack’s chest, the sheet sliding off his body, and he is breathing onto Jack’s skin, following the path of his finger with his mouth. He is biting Jack’s collarbone, Jack’s throat, Jack’s neck, licking up the sweat, the salt, the residue of the sixteen-hour days. Calming Jack down, opening Jack up, breathing a smile against Jack’s ear.

“I am now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter 0 quote, ‘deserves a quiet night’, is from REM song, Nightswimming.
> 
> The term ‘caffeine eyes’ is from REM song, Daysleeper.
> 
> The line ‘can be, or can reasonably be perceived to be’ is from the official rules against fraternization in the US Air Force 
> 
>  
> 
> <http://usmilitary.about.com/od/airforce/a/fraternization.htm>
> 
>  
> 
> Link courtesy of a nice person from the Alpha Gate list.


End file.
